


Fixation

by unconventional (Miss_Wells)



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Aromantic Asexual Sean Renard, Aromantic Character, Aromantic Sean Renard, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Asexual Sean Renard, Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Biromantic Demisexual Nick Burkhardt, Biromantic Nick Burkhardt, Body Worship, Demisexual Character, Demisexual Nick Burkhardt, Feeding, Feeding Kink, Hand Feeding, Hank Griffin is a good friend, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Weight Gain, biromantic character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-04-22 20:18:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14316384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Wells/pseuds/unconventional
Summary: When Nick notices that Sean never seems to eat much, he comes up with a plan to help.  But things don't go the way he expected as they slowly begin to see each other in a new light...and end up in a relationship unlike anything either of them could have imagined.





	1. Chapter 1

 

Nick checks his watch and shifts in his chair. “It’s almost lunchtime.”

Hank looks up from a case file he's reading. “That's what my stomach is telling me. We doing an office pool again?”

”Yeah, I was thinking Subway.”

“Sounds good to me. I'll talk to the others.”

Nick's eyes land on the captain's office across the way. Renard is at his desk, typing something on his laptop.

“I'll be right back,” he says.

Hank sees where Nick is looking. “He’s never joined us before. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him _eat_ lunch.”

“Maybe today will be different.” Nick stands up, crosses the room, and knocks on the office door.

“Come in.”

Nick accepts the captain’s invitation and steps over the threshold. “Hey, a lot of us are pooling our money for lunch. You want in?”

Renard glances up but otherwise focuses on the screen in front of him. “No, thank you, Nick. I’m not hungry.”

“You sure? Subway loves it when we give them our business.”

“I’m in the middle of something here.” Irritation sharpens Renard’s voice. “Maybe next time.”

“Okay.”

Nick feels surprisingly disappointed as he walks back out of the office.

“Told you,” Hank says when Nick reaches their desks.

“He said he wasn’t hungry. Isn’t that kind of weird? I don’t think he brought anything from home, and he’s been here since 6.” He looks over at Renard again. “I feel like he’s getting thinner.”

“Man, Nick, you’re really hung up on this.”

“I just don’t think he’s doing well. He always looks tired, and this isn’t exactly a stress-free job. You and I have to pester each other to eat three meals and get enough sleep. Who’s doing that for him? He never mentions any family, doesn’t have a partner as far as we know. I don’t think he even has a pet.”

“It’s none of our business, Nick.”

Nick sighs and runs a hand over his face. “You’re right, it’s not. I just...he does so much for Portland—for us—and he doesn’t get anything in return.”

“He's not asking for anything in return. He’s just doing his job.”

“I guess...”

Hank holds up a notepad. “I got everyone’s orders. Shall we?”

Nick nods reluctantly and they head for their car. He can’t stop thinking about Renard, holed up in his office, alone and underfed. It just doesn’t feel right. He feels like he should do something about it. _But what?_

 

* * *

 

Later on that night, Nick dances around in the kitchen to a playlist on his phone, stirring a bowl of brownie mix. He loves baking—it helps him feel calmer and the end result usually makes other people happy.

It occurs to Nick that the captain’s never had one of his brownies. Nick brings goodies into the precinct from time to time, but Renard never takes any for himself. Nick’s always wondered why that is.

An idea creeps into his head. He tries to brush it off, but it won’t leave him alone. Renard may not care about lunch, but maybe he wouldn’t mind finding an anonymous plate of baked goods on his desk one morning. Maybe he’d even eat a few from time to time as he went about his business. Maybe it would make up for some those missed lunch breaks. Maybe...

Nick shakes himself. No, that’s ridiculous. The captain doesn’t need anyone to baby him. And it would definitely be weird for one of his detectives to bring him brownies.

_But he wouldn’t have to know I made them. I could just leave them on his desk before he comes to work..._

Nick massages his forehead. _What’s gotten into me? Why do I care about this so much?_

_He works hard for us,_  he reasons with himself, _and he never gets thanked for it_ _. He deserves something nice._ _Besides, it isn’t_ _healthy_ _to skip meals so much. Brownies aren’t the_ _most nutritious_ _thing in the world, but they’re better than nothing._

He scrapes the brownie mix into the waiting pan and sticks it in the oven, setting the timer. He rummages around in a cupboard and grabs a paper plate and some plastic wrap.

_Am I really doing this?_ he wonders. But he already knows the answer. He’ll just have to set his alarm an hour early tomorrow to make sure he gets there on time.

 

* * *

 

When Sean gets into work the next day, he’s surprised to find a plate of brownies on his desk, neatly wrapped and seemingly waiting for him.

“Wha...?”

He slowly approaches the plate and looks around. They must be for him. People don’t just walk into his office, and they certainly don’t store personal items in it. But why would someone give him brownies?

_Poison_ , growls the vigilant part of his brain. He chides himself for jumping to conclusions. _Too conspicuous,_ _and_ _the_ _y would_ _run the_ _risk_ _of_ _someone_ _else eating them_ _. An experienced poisoner would be subtle, probably put it in my coffee._

Still, no harm in being cautious. He slowly unwraps the plate and breaks a brownie in half, sniffing it. It smells like a normal brownie. He risks a tiny bite. Definitely not cyanide. Not nightshade, either, from what he’s read about the plant’s characteristics. It tastes fine. Actually, it tastes delicious.

Deciding the brownies probably aren’t poisoned, and that they might still be worth it even if they are, he pops half of it into his mouth.

“Mmmm...”

He can’t remember the last time he had a brownie. Or any baked good, for that matter. He usually eats clean, without too many indulgences. But these are heavenly. More than worth his time.

He finishes the brownie and sits down, opening the lid of his laptop. As it boots up, he checks the underside of the plate for a label. Nothing there to indicate who left them. Pity. He wants to offer his earnest thanks for such a pleasant surprise.

He takes a second brownie from the plate and munches on it as he checks his email, savoring the rich flavor and spongy texture.

Unbeknownst to him, the person he wants to thank is surreptitiously watching from his desk, stifling a grin. Nick’s plan worked.

 

* * *

  

It takes Sean two days to finish off the brownies. He eats them slowly, grabbing one here and there as he works. The morning after they’re gone, a plate of chocolate chip walnut cookies shows up on his desk. This time there’s a note. Sean rips it from the plastic wrap, hoping to learn the identity of the mystery baker.

Unfortunately, there’s no name on the note, and it’s typed out so there’s no handwriting to identify.

“ _Hope you’re not allergic to nuts.”_

That’s it. No explanation of why he’s being given baked goods, no hint of who they’re from.

He isn’t allergic to nuts, or any food as far as he knows. He decides to ease the person’s mind and scrawls down a note of his own.

_"No allergies. Thank you for the brownies, and the cookies. Best thing I’ve had in a long time_. _-SR "_

The cookies are almost better than the brownies. They’re less dense, with a light, buttery flavor accented by gooey chocolate and chewy nuts. He eats three before finally getting started on his work. _If this_ _keeps up, I’ll be too busy eating to get anything done around here_.

Three days later, after the last cookie has been eaten and enjoyed, he comes in to find his note gone, and a plate of cheesecake squares in its place. He can’t help but smile. Cheesecake is his favorite.

Across the room, Nick beams. Hank nudges him teasingly. “Got a date I don’t know about?”

Nick hastily goes back to work, trying not to look embarrassed even as his cheeks flush. “Nope. When would I have time?”

“Oh, don’t give me that. It has to be something. You were grinning like a fool a second ago.”

“Shut up,” Nick mumbles.

Wu interrupts them to report a murder, saving him from having to think up an explanation on the spot. No way would he ever admit the truth. Who knows what people would think if he did.

 

* * *

 

_Don’t eat them too quickly, don’t eat them too quickly_...

Sean keeps his eyes glued to his work, preoccupied with trying to ignore the delicious cheesecake squares just inches away from him. He’s already had four this morning. It’s almost lunchtime.

_You want to_ _make_ _them_ _last_ _. Who knows when you’ll get more, or if you'll_   _even get more_ _at all._

His stomach rumbles hungrily, making him grimace. Odd. It doesn’t do that very often. Although, he supposes sheepishly, maybe it does and he just chooses to ignore it.

He looks at the plate. He can’t help himself. He’s hungry, they’re delicious, they’re right there…he takes one. And another one. And another one. He chews them just enough to get the full burst of flavor before swallowing and going for the next bite. He forces himself to take it slow. The last thing he wants to do is get sick.

_You need to stop_ , he tells himself sharply. He can’t give in to gluttony. He’s a captain; he has to set an example. He’s already had much more than is decent.

His stomach growls again. _Maybe just one more…_

 

* * *

 

 Watching Renard enjoy his baked offerings has been the highlight of Nick’s past few days. Every once in a while he’ll glance up and catch Renard biting into one, eyes closed as he relishes the taste. He feels content and even proud knowing he’s made a difference, even if it’s something small. It gives Nick a warm, happy feeling in his chest.

But today is different. Today, when Nick is just about to get out the sandwich he brought from home, Renard is devouring the cheesecake squares like a starving man, one after the other, popping them into his mouth like they aren’t the richest thing Nick’s made him so far.

There’s something about the way the captain is eating. Something that makes Nick’s cheeks go pink. Has the room always been this warm?

He tries to go back to work, but he can’t tear his eyes away from Renard. He can hardly breathe. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. All he knows is that he wants to make Renard many, many more treats. As long as each one is enjoyed as much as these blessed cheesecake squares.

 

* * *

 

The last square goes down as easily as the first, but immediately Sean feels how heavily they’re sitting in his gut. He leans back in his chair, squirming a bit. His stomach is full, stretched, pushing up against his belt, tugging slightly at the fabric of his dress shirt. He burns with shame at first, but that soon gets drowned out by groggy contentment.

He feels warm. Satisfied. Good. He closes his eyes and slips a hand under his jacket, kneading his stomach with his fingers. He lets out a low moan.

 

* * *

 

Across the way, Nick’s eyes widen. _Oh man...is he...rubbing his...oh man..._

He swallows hard. He sees the captain’s lips part, sees him panting the faintest bit. He suppresses a shiver.

_He ate the whole thing._

That’s the only thought his mind seems capable of right now.

_Every single one of them. In one sitting. He ate them all._

He won’t ever stop. He’ll go broke if that’s what it takes to keep Renard supplied with as much dessert as his heart desires.

There’s something... _exhilarating_ about seeing him full like this. Nick wants to see it again and again. With more food. Much more. Until he can barely move under the weight of his full, heavy belly…

Nick shoots to his feet, startling Hank into spilling his coffee. “What the...!?”

“Bathroom.” Nick makes his escape without another word, not stopping until he’s safely locked in a stall, clutching his head as he sits down. He needs a minute to regain his composure, gather his thoughts, erase all memory of thinking _wildly_ inappropriate thoughts about his captain. He can’t do this. He shouldn’t be doing this. He’ll have to stop bringing treats.

But they make him so happy… Renard is sure to be disappointed if he shows up to an empty desk tomorrow morning. He can’t bear the thought of disappointing him…

“One more time,” he says to himself. “Then I have to stop.”

One more time...

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's shown your support through kudos, bookmarks, and especially comments! This fic has gotten way more of a response than I ever expected and your positivity is what motivated me to get chapter two written and published. I hope it was worth the wait! I look forward to continuing this story and following wherever it leads.

The alarm clock blares from its place on the nightstand.  Nick groans and rolls over in bed to smack the off button, keenly aware of the bad night's sleep he just woke up from.  Wearily he gets ready for work and eats a light breakfast before grabbing his final offering: lemon bars.

 _Just one more time and we're done_ , he assures himself for the millionth time.   _Then you'll never have to worry about it again_.

He gets to work without incident and grabs the plastic bag he shoved the plate into before heading into the precinct.  His department is mostly empty this early in the morning, and the few people here are too groggy to pay him much notice.

He tries the door to Renard's office, even though the other times he's done this the custodian had to let him in.  To his surprise, it eases open.   _That's weird_ _.  Maybe she knew I was coming._

He opens the bag and sets the plate down on the desk before turning back toward the door, hoping to leave before anyone—

"Nick?"

He freezes, wincing.  Renard is standing in the doorway, looking confused.  "Captain.  You're here early."

"My mother called and woke me up.  She forgot about the time difference, so I figured I may as well come in now."

So he  _does_ have a family.  Long distance by the sound of it.

"I suppose I have to ask the obvious question now.  What exactly are you doing in my office?"

That's when he notices the lemon bars on the desk.  Immediately his eyebrows shoot up.  "You're the one who's been leaving those?"

Nick nods guiltily, his face heating up.  "I shouldn't have gone behind you're back about it.  I'm sorry."

"You're not in trouble, Nick, I'm just surprised.  Pleasantly so.  I didn't know you could bake."

"A little bit, yeah."

"False modesty.  I expect better from the most honest detective on the force."  Renard's face softens in a smile, sending a shiver through Nick's stomach.  "I can't thank you enough, Nick.  Those treats have been the highlight of my day.  What made you decide to do it?"

Nick sucks in a breath.  "Well...when you said no to Subway the other day, it got me thinking about how I barely see you eat anything when you're working, not even on your lunch break.  I know it's not my place, but I was getting a little worried about your health."

Renard thinks about this for an agonizing minute.  Then he sighs.  "You may have a point.  I've been giving myself a pass on a poor diet, something I'd never let any of you get away with.  I have a duty, to the city and to the precinct, and I need to keep myself in peak condition to properly carry it out."

Nick nods encouragingly, not trusting himself to speak right now.  He can't tell whether the words  _peak condition_ excite him or disappoint him.

They stand in awkward silence for a moment, until Renard clears his throat.  "It's probably best if you don't bring in anything else.  We wouldn't want anyone getting the wrong idea."

"Understood."  Even though he was already planning to stop, he still feels a pang at the thought.  Maybe he can do something like this again for a special occasion, like a birthday or the holidays.

Renard continues.  "I'd love to return the favor if I can.  Any suggestions?"

_Buy me coffee.  Smile again and don't stop.  Eat the whole plate while I watch..._

Nick forces a smile at odds with his pounding heart.  "Just enjoy the lemon bars."

Renard's smile returns, unknowingly granting one of Nick's rebellious wishes.  "Believe me, I will.  Let me know if you change your mind."

"Yes, sir."

And just like that, Renard's back to being captain, and Nick's back to being the subordinate with a weird crush on his maddeningly perfect boss.

"I'll let you get back to work now," Renard says.

"Thank you, Captain."

Nick heads for his desk, wishing the ache in his chest would go away.

 

* * *

 

When Hank comes into work an hour later, he's surprised to find Nick already there.  "You're here early."

"Didn't sleep well.  I've been meaning to get these files organized anyway."  Nick keeps his eyes on the papers in front of him, clearly trying to look busier than he is.

"Okay then..."

Hank's not stupid.  He's noticed the treats, noticed Nick's been acting weird, and he already knows how well his partner can bake from last year's Christmas party.  He can put two and two together.  But he won't say anything about it unless Nick does.  Whatever's going on is between him and the captain.  It's Hank's job as his friend and colleague to assume the best and hope he isn't proven wrong.

 

* * *

 

Sean wishes he hadn't found out who made the treats.  Now every time he looks at the lemon bars a tangle of questions whirl through his head, about Nick's intentions and his own.

He admits that if he had caught Nick the first time, before he had a chance to taste the brownies, he might have chided him for it.  But the treats have been wonderful, and it turns out it's easier to focus on work when you have something in your stomach.  Well, most of the time.  Yesterday was the exception, since it's about impossible to concentrate when you're ready to slip into a food coma.

Sean swallows, hard.  He's been trying not to think about the cheesecake squares, specifically his overindulgence in them.  He wouldn't say he's ashamed of the act itself—everyone goes overboard sometimes, especially on something that delicious.  What's really getting to him is how  _good_ it felt.

He's never been a big eater.  Growing up he'd get so preoccupied with his homework that his mother had to interrupt him so he could eat dinner.  In college, while his friends teased each other about the Freshman 15, Sean actually lost weight pouring all of his time into studying.  He only started eating regular meals at the police academy, and even then he skipped breakfast more times than was probably healthy.  He's almost surprised it took this long for someone besides his mother to voice concern.

Those cheesecake squares woke something carnal in him.  Being full like that was one of the most sublime experiences of his life.  He wants to do it again, test his limits, see how much he can  _really_ eat.  He wonders what it would feel like to be so full that all he can do is lie down and sleep it off...

Sean grips his pen til his knuckles go white.  What is he doing?!  He shouldn't feel aroused at the thought of overeating.  He's supposed to be the essence of self-control, not a shameful example of gluttony!

He takes a few steadying breaths and looks again at the lemon bars.  He considers giving them to someone else, but the very thought gives him a pang of disappointment.  No, he'll just bring them home and eat them in moderation like a responsible person.  

He's decided he'll start packing lunches from now on, but for today he'll go to the bistro around the corner.

...And then maybe one or two lemon bars for dessert.

 

* * *

 

It's been two weeks, and Nick is still suffering.  All those unwanted thoughts and feelings haven't gone away; if anything, they've intensified.  He keeps getting momentarily lost in the captain's eyes, keeps feeling a swoop in his chest every time he hears him speak.  The way Renard treats everyone with respect, the way he carries himself with such dignity, such elegance...

And he's still noticing  _other_ _things_ about Renard, too, things that no normal person should be getting hung up on.  Lunch breaks at the precinct are torture as Nick tries not to watch Renard while he's eating.  It doesn't help that those lunches are quite a bit bigger than Nick thought they would be.  For someone who didn't care about lunch a month ago, he sure seems to be making up for lost time.

Eating so much so suddenly might show up on his figure...

"Nick?"

Nick's hand jerks forward, snapping his pencil in half.  Hank looks confused and somewhat concerned.  "You okay?"

Nick swallows, mouth dry.  "Yeah, I'm fine.  It's just...the Malone case.  It's really bugging me.  Why would they hide the rest of the body?"

Hank doesn't seem too convinced.  "I don't know.  We seem to be pretty close to figuring it out, so I wouldn't worry about it too much.  But I don't think that's what's bugging you."

He leans forward, lowering his voice.  "I'm always here if you need to talk, on or off the clock."

"There's nothing to talk about," Nick says, more sharply than he intended.

"All right, suit yourself.  I just wanted to check up on you."  He studies Nick for a moment before going back to work without another word.

Nick looks down at the broken pencil in his hand.   _I must be losing my mind_.

 

* * *

 

Sean's developed an unexpected appetite.  He's eating a balanced diet for the most part, but he's hungry for a lot more than he thought he would be.  A lot more than he can ever remember wanting.

He did a huge grocery shop shortly after the lemon bars and spent his day off cooking recipes he found online and freezing them so all he has to do after a long day at work is pop one in the oven to reheat.  He's had to make double the recommended portions for just about everything to feel satisfied after a meal.

Every Monday he treats himself to a small bag of pastries from a local bakery, and every Friday he goes out to eat at the lovely little Italian place down the street from his apartment building.  He's addicted to the heavy, comfortable feeling of a full stomach.  Since starting this new routine he's felt happier, more grounded, able to think clearer.  He feels better than he has in years.

One night, drowsy and full of Italian food, he stops and looks at himself in the mirror just as he's about to get dressed.  What he sees surprises him.

His body appears to have gone through some minor changes.  He wouldn't call it gaining weight  _per se_ ; more of a filling out.  His shirt is hugging his midsection a bit more than it used to, but he definitely hasn't outgrown anything yet.

He stays in front of the mirror as he unbuttons his shirt, gradually revealing the modest beginnings of a belly.  A lesser man might have frantically made plans to buy a gym membership, but Sean's never been overly insecure when it comes to his physique.  He knows he's reasonably attractive, and at his age, with his body type, he's bound to get a little extra padding.  Nothing to worry about.  He certainly doesn't plan on eating any less.  If this is the price he has to pay for a better quality of life, so be it.  It's not the end of the world.

But none of that stops him from feeling ashamed at the thrill that runs through him when he runs a hand over his new, softer belly.


End file.
